I soon
found that while this boat tacked readily, upon passing to the north
of one island – small, heavily wooded, tall trees, dark green due
to a dense growth of brush below the start of the foliage of the
trees – that the wind on the west sides of these places tended to
be strong enough to build up a fairly impressive level of speed
quickly. More importantly, the boat 'coasted' well enough that if I
picked my route carefully between them, I could weave the craft
between the closer-together ones such that by the time it had slowed
to a near-standstill, I was able to catch another 'blast' of wind –
and rocket ahead for another mile or two, and then coast into the
west side of another.

All the
while, however, I could tell I was getting closer to that one
location, and when I broke out into 'open sea', then I had steady
wind, though it was weaker than I had expected due to the islands to
my east breaking up the flow to my left instead of my right.

“These do
that,” said Sarah, as she wrote. “The two of them are still
sleeping off being captured by fetishes. Where is this place
with the ships?”

“About
another hour away, if that, at least at this speed,” I said. “Now,
can you dig up the rocket-launcher, or do you wish me to?”

“Best let
me, though if you can tell me where it is, it might help,” said
Sarah – who then dug out the list from her pack. She looked down
it, then, “bag twenty-one has it. I'll need to undo that bag's
ropes, then...”

“No,
dear,” I said, deadpan. “Just go in there with this battery
torch, find the tag you're after, then unzip it partially and bring
the pieces you need out one at a time, then get a vest of rockets,
and finally some of those thermal heads. We'll want at least one
rocket with one ready-installed, as we're going to need it to sink
that ship that's going to want our hides for blowing up their harbor
– and that harbor is going to go up hard.”

Sarah
took my 'torch', then over the next fifteen minutes, she snuck into
the roofed-over area, then brought out the various bits of the
launcher, followed by a vest of rockets. I was able to tell her
precisely what to do and how to do it, though she'd done this enough
to not need it.

At
least, not until I spoke of fitting a thermal head, then doing a
quick changeover of the 'visor'. She then seemed mystified, until I
had her take the rudder and sail-steering 'oar' and showed her just
how to do it.

She
was about to change positions with me when we heard, “he'll need to
take that shot, as firstly, that thing will work better with him, and
not a little better; then he'll know exactly what to look for
so as to wreck the place thoroughly and then sink that one ship, at
least with that one location and that ship that ends up chasing you.
You can do the others, as they're nowhere near as capable for trouble
or hiding.”

Sarah
seemed crestfallen, until I spoke of needing someone to keep the sail
filled and our course steady while I hung off the rear of the boat on
the 'toilet seat'.

“I'll
steer, then,” said Sarah. “Using that thing scares me green out
on the ocean here, and if I must use the privy while on this craft, I
want to do so on land, as they have these fish out here.”

“Killer-fish?”
I said. “What do they look like?”

“You'll
see plenty of them in the third kingdom port tomorrow
morning,” said the soft voice. “Suffice it to say, you've heard
of fish that are somewhat like them.”

“Goiter?”
I asked.

“Wrong
name, right idea,” said the soft voice. “Sarah's scared of those
things for a very good reason, the same as anyone who's sailed on the
open sea, even Pieter Huygens – who is reckoned to have more stone
than anyone afloat.”

“So
they are calledGoiters,” I said. “I know what
they are then – big mouth, bigger-yet appetite, like to eat
anything at all, blood in the water draws them if they're within
miles...”

“That
is a killer-fish, all right,” said Sarah. “Now I see smoke,
though it is a far distance off, but I recognize that smoke.”

“Yes?”
I asked. “Evil engine, right?”

“I
think so,” said Sarah. “That one just started up, as
they're a bit sootier then.”

“Means
those people are getting ready to get under way,” I said.

“Not
for a while they aren't,” said the soft voice. “Recall how
cold-blooded that one engine was?”

I
nodded mentally.

“The
ones used in these ships take a good hour's time to get 'a full load
of soot in them', which is one thing that one man is known for doing
prior to getting underway, in case he must move quickly from the very
start.” Pause, then, “though if his boat is ready to go,
however, it will indeed be ready to go – and he'll be able
to give it full throttle as soon as he's clear of the harbor and the
channel leading into it.”

“And, of
course, he will full-load his guns before getting underway,” I
said. “Now, let's see – put in a super-quick fuse, one that's
just a bit too hot to be fired...”

“He's
picky about his gunners, also,” said the soft voice. “More, he
doesn't have anything big enough that it loads that way – all of
his guns use 'fixed' ammunition, which has certain advantages
regarding rate of fire, as you well know.”

“What
does he have, then?”

“He may
have fewer and smaller guns than anything else currently in their
inventory, but he does stay
on top of their maintenance, he does
make sure his gun-crews actually practice some,
and he does have
enough guns with range that he can
cause trouble further away than you can get to him with anything you
have, save unless you fire one of those thermal-head rockets and get
some elevation for 'indirect fire' – which means you'll
need to shoot at him then.”

“Uh,
set lock manually, then fire at an elevation that gives several miles
of range and it goes down the stack and then into the engine?”
I asked.

“That's
how it was commonly done by some of the more-successful rocket teams
when they were 'hunting' ships and anything else that used that type
of engine,” said the soft voice. “Indirect fire, however, has
one big advantage with that ship.”

“What?”
I asked.

“He'll
have a full load of soot, remember?” asked the soft voice. “He'll
be running 'full out' or as close as he can manage at the time, which
means not only will he be spitting a lot of fire and soot and smoke
into the air, but then his engine will be ripe for exploding –
and he'll sink like a dropped rock when it blows up.”

I
thought to ask for wind as Sarah finished assembling the rockets,
then as I did, I had an impression.

I
wanted to sink that one ship. More, I wanted to sink him well
away from his current port of call, as if he went up inside it, he'd
not have had a chance to 'rattle' that one 'Serious Witch', and more,
rattle those witches up at Norden. Finally, there was something else
in that general area, something a bit south of where we'd 'nail' that
ship, and it needed either rigging or blowing up with a rocket.

“No,
just about four or five rounds of 'hot red tracer',” I thought, as
I adjusted the sail and caught more wind, then found that I needed to
begin tacking once more.

“Best
ask for some wind,” I thought.

Instantly,
the sail filled, and within perhaps twenty seconds, the boat had
accelerated to nearly thirty miles an hour. I then saw just how far
we had to go to reach this place. That soot plume was huge,
as in it could be seen for a considerable distance under the right
conditions, much like my starting up the Abbey's generator had called
every Valley refugee within sight or sound of it – and that was
easily twenty miles, if not more yet.

“Not
twenty miles, but closer to fifty,” I thought, regarding how
far we needed to travel yet.

“Yes,
if you speak of a straight line,” said the soft voice. “Don't be
shy about asking for wind – as you don't want that one
character to come out of their harbor and get into the open ocean
before you shoot at the harbor.”

“Oh,
as then we'll get nailed,” I murmured. I then asked for wind
again.

The
sudden ripping acceleration the two of us experienced was such that
within perhaps twenty seconds, I glanced to the side and saw that we
were once again airborne – and now, the boat was truly
tricky, as in weight-shift had substantial effect, the rudders little
in comparison, and the sail – that was the main way of steering the
thing as it shot across the surface of the water in 'ground effect',
where the huge cloth caught between the pontoons acted like a wing of
sorts.

It
was also moving 'at the speed of an angry hornet', as Sarah put it,
and that smoke cloud drew closer by the minute. I then had an idea:
I would need to actually go into the inlet.

“No,
not really,” I thought, as I steered but a few degrees south of due
west. “I think I can hit that tank via indirect fire, which means
we fire before that one guy's out of the channel, the huge explosion
gets him in the butt, it messes up his boat...”

“Best
hurry, then, as he's getting sooted up to the degree needed to get
underway,” said the soft voice. “You've got about another twenty
miles to go now, or about another fifteen minutes at your current
speed, and I'd position myself such that I touched down but a few
miles from that inlet, change over, let Sarah get comfortable at the
tiller, and then take your shot – and then let her reload that
launcher while you get the boat moving again while that man comes
after you.”

“He's
going to be transmitting for all he's worth, isn't he?” I asked.
“Really shake those people up a lot where he's based.”

“True,
and now you're getting a slice of the bigger picture,” said
the soft voice. “Anything you can do to keep that bunch overseas
guessing and off-balance is just going to make it easier for you and
harder for them when you take the place, and when their best
ship-leader suddenly drops from sight like a rock, then they're going
to be right on the verge of going for each other at most
levels of leadership overseas.”

“And,
of course, that one boat that's about half-way to Norden by now is
not going to turn around and try for us – or is he?” I
asked.

“Him,
no, as 'orders are orders', and he has his – and he's the
most-trashed and least-competent of the lot, so he'll continue his
mission until he returns to his home base when he's due to do
so,” said the soft voice. “Of course, that will mean he gets the
ax, but then, that will happen to every still-surviving ship-leader
among those running ships much north of the third kingdom port.”

“Those
people in the other port...” I asked. These ships came from an
entirely different location than those we would be meeting.

“No,
as they're 'proles', and hence are more or less in the dark about all
of this – and those in leadership know that,” said the soft
voice. “Besides, getting more surface-ship-leaders will be far
easier than getting replacements able to keep those others from
sinking – as those people don't just 'drive' their boats. They
have to know how to work on them, also; then, they're usually
not given nearly the leeway that those on the surface fleet; finally,
those boats invariably have two or sometimes three spies on
them, as those people are not 'clothed' so they look like
witch-soldiers.”

“And
the surface fleet, because everyone involved is at least nominally a
witch, is totally different,” I said.

“Much
more than that,” said the soft voice. “Much more.”

As
the smoke column began to slowly fade, however, I knew another
matter: our departing ship had 'a full load of soot' in his engine or
engines, and would soon weigh anchor; more, that port was drawing
closer at the rate of well over a mile a minute: finally, I would
need some minutes to set up after 'landing' the boat. I asked that
the wind slow gently, then over the course of perhaps eight to ten
minutes, we 'landed' and slowed to an estimated twenty miles an hour,
then as I steered the boat to windward of this one huge island, I saw
a clearly demarcated channel – and again, more smoke, only this
time, the source of that smoke was moving.

There
was no time to waste, and as I directed Sarah, I loaded the rocket
launcher, then went out the back door, knelt on the platform, and
aiming up, I prayed – and this, eyes closed, somehow seeing the
target, I squeezed once.

Wait.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three...

Shift
slightly, a bit to the left. Up a bit more. Need a bit more range.

Squeeze.

The
pop of launching this time was astonishingly loud, and as I got back
inside the cabin, Sarah moved out of the way and I adjusted the sail
for best 'drive', then steered forty degrees to the south by compass
heading. I got more wind nearly instantly, which proved wise, as not
ten seconds later, I heard the screaming howls of several artillery
rounds as they passed just overhead. I looked right, and saw huge
waterspouts some three hundred yards further on. I then looked to
the left.

A
sudden flash of light all but blotted out this one island, then a
wall of water nearly forty feet high shot out of this narrow inlet.

A
wall of water with a sizable ship riding it like a surfboard, and as
our craft accelerated, I was astonished to see more waterspouts
hitting in our wake.

These
were much further distant, though, even if our pursuer had his
bearing right on us. His range – that was the question, and if I
went by the size of those waterspouts, his guns weren't toys.

Thirdly,
he had a fair number of them, and as his ship rode out that tidal
wave, the billowing inferno that came up from the island it had just
left was enough to make me wonder just what had happened.

Until
the island all but vanished in a huge white flash, one that made me
glad I was wearing dark goggles.

“That
got to that stinker, all right,” spat Sarah. She was loading up
another rocket. “Now where is this next place, the one with the
pirates?”

“Perhaps
twenty miles as the quoll flies, but unless that smoky wretch to our
rear has got a lot of engine in that thing, he's going to have
bad trouble trying to keep up,” I said. “We'll get there
in perhaps half an hour. He tries going half that fast, and his
engine is going to burst.”

That,
however, did not stop this fellow from 'putting the distillate to his
engine' – Sarah's words – as within less than a minute, he was
shooting a mountain of soot into the air amid a jet of
red-white-yellow fire, all the while his forward-facing guns
continuing to fire steadily. There was but one trouble.

While
he'd drilled at some length regarding his gunnery, either his
competition didn't practice at all, or these people's weapons were
not that accurate – as we continued opening the gap, and his shells
kept hitting in our wake.

He
was sending one our way every second or so, and once or twice,
they landed close enough to have me worried.

“What
size does that wretch have?” I asked.

“Mostly
seventy-five millimeter guns, with a number of smaller ones,” said
the soft voice. “Be glad he has nothing bigger.”

“Why?”
I asked, as we were bracketed. The nearest shell landed over a
hundred yards distant.

“Because
if he did, you would have been sunk by now,” said the soft voice.
“The guns on the other ships, the ones that exploded when that
harbor went up in smoke, fired much larger shells, and more,
unlike what he has, those have terminal guidance – so not
only can they shoot a lot further, and the 'danger radius' is a lot
bigger from their blast and splinters, but they're nowhere near
as limited by the poor quality of gun-crews compared to what he has –
and when I said he 'practiced', I meant 'he fired some shells
now and then, not 'he practiced every chance he got, and fired
as many rounds as he could beg, borrow, or steal'.”

“Meaning
he's not going to get them closer than he...”

An
earsplitting whine seemed to home in on where we were heading, and I
steered with both sail and rudders. The shell overshot our mast to
land beyond us, but the important matter was if I had not moved
abruptly to the side by nearly thirty feet, the thing would have hit
our sail – and that shell would have gotten us.

“More
wind, I guess...”

I
wished I had not thought so, as again, that sudden ripping
acceleration, and here, within perhaps five seconds, we were
once more flying. More importantly, we were flying high
enough that I could learn to actually bank and steer the boat as if
it were an aircraft, and here, I was amazed.

I
was becoming good at this business, so much so that as the
shells continued to fly around us, I thought to ask, “now how far
can that wretch shoot?”

“He's
got maximum elevation on his guns now, which means about another
three minutes at your current speed, and you're well out of range of
his weapons,” said the soft voice. “He has a few missiles, but
at this range, there isn't anything you have that he
can lock onto, and those weapons are sufficiently 'costly' that he
needs to get prior authorization from 'highest command' to use one –
as in he's got to ask if one can be fired, his request goes through
multiple layers of authority – about three levels 'above' that one
'serious witch' you heard – then it's got to go back down that
long and stretched-thin chain of command – and he doesn't have that
much time.”

Accordingly,
I asked to slow when it felt like three minutes was 'up', but as I
did, I noted that Sarah was pointing at another island.

An
island with wide-open water showing between the dense growth of
trees, this inlet directly open to the west. It was nearly a
straight shot from where we were.

More,
even at our current distance, I could easily tell that there were a
lot of sailing vessels in the place, and more, every one of
these things was a pirate ship – either a part-time pirate, or in
at least one case, a full-time pirate – as in that individual did
nothing else, rather than the far-more-usual situation of 'piracy
when it paid well with minimum risk, and
legitimate-looking shipping otherwise'.

I
kept steering for that inlet, as I wished to give Sarah a good shot
at that mess, and I was more than a little surprised when she went
out the back, then some seconds later, I heard the unmistakable pop
and saw that small red dot flashing away in a slightly arching
trajectory toward the 'nearest' pirate ship.

“That
wretch has got a full load of dynamite and enough distillate on his
boat that...” My thoughts were going rapidly, and I was
concentrating on getting ready to move.

Sarah
came in the door, then urged me to 'get moving', as she'd aimed at an
obvious cargo of light distillate.

“How
could you, uh, tell?” I asked, as I maneuvered back into the wind
and then asked for some.

“I
could see it on that visor thing,” said Sarah. “I saw the kegs,
I put the marks dead center on them, I held steady, and then I
fired.”

As
if to apprise me of 'trouble', a sudden blinding white flash shot
flames and smoke high into the sky, then as if the entire island were
made of high explosives, it went up in a huge mushroom cloud ringed
with fire and gouting black smoke – and as the shells once more
began to splash around us – that one ship-leader was pushing his
engine or engines to their breaking point – I asked for more wind.

It
proved wise, as this time we 'took off' just in time to avoid being
hit by a salvo of shells. It was obvious he was getting wise to our
'flying' tricks, and I had to flit about like a moth for several
minutes until he gave matters up once more.

But
one trouble, and this Sarah spoke of as I continued 'flying'.

There
were at least eight smoldering 'pirate ships' coming out of that one
harbor under all the sail they could tie on, and amid oncoming vast
clouds of smoke and flame, they saw this one ship bearing down upon
them, turned broadside-to once they had closed, and then the dull
booms and bangs I heard miles to our rear spoke of one thing.

The
pirates thought this one smoke-billowing ship had put a shell in
their base as a declaration of war, and now, these thugs were out for
blood, while that one man...

“That's
right, use up the rest of your larger ammunition,” I
muttered, as the 'naval battle' to our rear became steadily louder.
One huge flash, then another, then a third announced that someone was
carrying quantities of high explosives, while Sarah looked out the
back of our boat through the open door.

“Ooh,
they're shooting at each other, and while I doubt those pirates are
doing much to that other ship...”

“No,
actually they are doing something,” said the soft voice.
“He's got to slow down a lot to avoid destroying his ship,
and they're getting in close enough that their round-shots are
actually hitting his ship. Granted, they're just bouncing off
of its superstructure for the most part, but more than one of those
cannonballs have already smashed something on that ship that
was chasing you – and that something was important enough that he's
going to have trouble getting his shells close enough to be
worrisome.”

“Smashed
s-something?” I asked.

“More
than just a commonplace 'something' – as in his gun-laying
equipment and fire coordination gear is inoperable due to his sensor
suite being wrecked by that round-shot,” said the soft
voice. “One of them just fired a broadside-load of bagged
roer-balls at a distance of five hundred yards as they 'crossed his
T', and those hard-lead spheres bounding along that one ship's deck
got more than a few of the big ship's gunners and deck personnel.”

More
smoky broadsides, then suddenly, faintly, I heard a crashing noise
that segued into something that made me wonder.

“That
time they put a round-shot into the cabin,” said the soft
voice, “and the remaining pirates are now close enough that they're
bouncing more round-shots across and along his deck – and
more than one gun has been wrecked by them doing what they're doing,
and that's but the start of things as far as they're
concerned.”

“You
mean the pirates are actually damaging that ship?” I gasped.

“Yes,
even if they're not going to sink him, but he is going
to sink them,” said the soft voice. “Oh, two more pirates
just came out of that harbor, and they're raising all sail in order
to go after the chief source of their latest troubles, and these
people have shells, fresh-bored guns of 'siege' caliber, and
larger crews than those ships that first came out, so a lot of those
pirates are going to climb up their masts and shoot down onto that
larger ship.”

“And
do more damage to it with their larger guns,” I murmured, as
another 'huge' broadside ripped through the air to hit with dull
clangs and rattling noises.

“Sounds
like they're still going at it hammer and tongs,” I said. “Now,
when are those...”

Faintly,
I heard first one whirring howl, then another, then two more – and
then suddenly several more distinct 'shell' sounds, all of these
followed by crashing noises as the shells hit either the water or the
target. Sarah described what happened next.

“They're
hitting that bigger ship with shells now,” said Sarah. “I'm not
sure if they're doing much to it, but those pirates are hitting that
ship some, and those shells look to be filled with something that's
stronger than the commonplace for shell-filling.”

“Then
perhaps one will put a shell through a ventilation passage,” I
murmured. I could just see such a shell screaming its way inside the
ship, where it would then detonate upon hitting something solid –
but what Sarah then told me said that these latest arrivals were
good.

“That
one big ship has a fire on its deck now,” said Sarah. “I think
it has a fire inside of it, as its engine appears to be smoking but
little compared to its deck – and its' engine is still spewing a
lot of smoke.”

“Going
to really make that wretch mad,” I murmured. “First, his port
gets blown up good, then he gets his ship pounded by a bunch
of pirates...”

“He
is getting that, all right,” said Sarah. “These latest people
must think 'get close enough that you can put soot on your target',
as that's just what they're doing, and then they've got lots of
people up in their masts shooting down onto that bigger ship, and...”

“No,
just toss that big jug of southern cleaning solution right down onto
his deck,” I said. “Yes, then follow it with a big
short-fused bundle of mining dynamite wrapped with old chains.”

“What
will that do, other than cause a big explosion?” asked Sarah. “Will
it sink that larger ship?”

“No,
but it will irritate that ship-leader so stinking much that he will
toss what caution he has left, and go after us with the goal of
either achieving our demise or getting himself killed,” I said.
“Good, irritated ship-leaders tend to make more and worse judgment
errors.”

The
massive flash of light that then resulted had Sarah screech, then
yell, “he's on fire, he's smoking like a burn-pile, and every
single one of those pirates is gone.”

“They
blew themselves up?” I asked.

“Intentionally,
no,” said the soft voice. “Tossing that big of a bundle of
dynamite on top of a jug of real southern cleaning solution,
though – the resulting blast was so bad that it set off everything
else those pirates had, and that did something to that
other ship that that ship-leader is not enjoying in the
slightest.”

“What?”
I asked. “Cover his nice clean ship with soot?”

“Much
worse than that,” said the soft voice. “Half his crew is dead,
half the remainder is injured, his ship is significantly damaged, and
his engine is now running very rough, due to some damage it
took. More, he's sprung several plates, so he's taking on water,
though the pumps are currently keeping that situation well
controlled.”

“His
guns?” I asked.

“Most
of them no longer have people able to fire them,” said the soft
voice, “most of his ammunition is gone, many of his guns are
damaged and the rest have become 'seriously inaccurate', so he
figures that the best he can do is run you down – and he's prepared
to do just that, as he now knows he's lost nearly everything he holds
dear.”

Whatever
constituted 'really dumb', though, had me wondering, though once the
pirates were gone, he throttled back up, and this time, he really
meant it – as in “I do not care if my engine blows my ship up or
not! I want everything it can do, and nothing held back!”

He
also resumed shooting, though now the shells were flying so
wide of the mark and were so few in number that he was
clutching at straws.

He
knew that.

I
knew that. I also knew that he figured he had nothing to lose,
and that suddenly made him a much more dangerous opponent.

“Yes,
if he wasn't 'putting in the stupid drugs' right now,” said the
soft voice. “That's about the dumbest thing that man could do, as
otherwise, he has a slim chance of making it back to port, or a
slimmer-yet chance of sinking you before he becomes too damaged to
continue the chase.”

“Too
damaged to continue the chase?” I asked.

“Remember,
his engine is damaged,” said the soft voice. “He is now running
a damaged compression-ignition engine beyond 'prudent' ratings –
in fact, beyond even 'war-emergency ratings'.” Pause, then,
“you've seen enough of those go up to have an idea as to what
happens when one lets go.”

“If
he keeps that up, then it's just a matter of time before his ship
goes down,” I murmured. “Now, that place where Norden is –
it's along the west side, as there, they get the best wind and the
most sun, so they have their fish-processing plant...” My voice
went up an octave, then, “fish processing plant?”

“Yes,
they have one there,” said the soft voice. “Norden does not
merely supply its own populace with fish there – they also secure a
lot of food for functionaries of one color or another, and hence that
island not only has a large fish-processing plant, but also an
extensive collection of tanks to store the offal.” Pause, then,
“that offal, once suitably fermented, is then conveyed by barge to
that first island you blew up, where it was made into a fuel suitable
for compression-ignition engines – and the leadership overseas has
a lot of those things.”

“Lot
of them?” I asked.

“They're
preferred power sources if you're in love with that black book,”
said the soft voice. “Then, that fuel is more or less 'free for
the taking', and finally, Norden's people do most of the 'hard' work
of catching the fish.”

“Hard?”
I asked. The place was steadily drawing closer, our gap between
ourselves and our pursuer was once more widening, the target was
'huge', and the smoke clouds would both wreck...

I
then had a question, and it related to that last one.

“Hard?”
I asked once more.

“It's
gotten a lot easier since they've been equipped with nets,” said
the soft voice. “They catch ten times the fish in a given amount
of time, then they have small outboard motors that are easily
used...”

“Outboard
motors?” I gasped.

“Yes,
small ones, ones that barely run,” said the soft voice. “That's
deliberate, by the way, as these people aren't terribly bright.”
Pause, then, “the chief matter is what those motors use as fuel.”

“What
are they?” asked Sarah.

“Why,
a standard species of motor made where you are going across the sea,”
said the soft voice. “Lots of smoke, fire out of the unmuffled
exhaust when it's run hard, and noisier than anything short of what a
productive potter uses.”

“Then
I know what those are, and I think I know what to look for, also,”
said Sarah. “It's bright orange colored, this among a long row of
tanks, and it's got a rounded top, correct?”

I
nodded, then said, “aim for that, dear. Hit that thing, that fuel
goes up, every single tank gets ripped open and the tankage-gases
ignite explosively, and...”

“Can
you say 'huge smudge pot'?” said the soft voice. “That
ship-leader, given he's reduced to tools less effective than what
Sarah has, and he's completely trashed – he'll just blunder on into
that smoke.”

“Hence
we let him get out where we've got a good shot at him, I set the
warhead, I fire, and then up sail and we scoot before his side-facing
guns open up.” I wondered if what I had just said would work, at
least until I heard otherwise.

“He
no longer has ammunition for those – those of them still able to be
used, that is,” said the soft voice. “The only guns he has that
still have ammunition, other than personal weapons and a few
rifle-caliber machine guns, are the two foremost bow guns – and
with his fire-control apparatus wrecked, his sensor suite destroyed,
and their best gunners dead or too badly hurt to wish to do much
beyond 'meet Brimstone in the solid', then about all he can do is
fire off what he has remaining and hope he gets one close
enough to stop you.”

Norden's
site would be hard to miss, as while Norden's people had been there
for many years, their 'assistants' had transformed the place within
the last year. Now, each 'Spam' produced three times the amount of
dried fish meal to send back home that he used to, the surplus was
tinned and put up to ship back to that location across the sea, the
sheer tonnage of fish that area produced was beyond comprehension,
and the leadership got all of the compression-ignition-engine-fuel it
could possibly use and then some.

“And
then some?” I asked. “Don't tell me – they've been taking that
stuff up to Norden.”

“More
than just that,” said the soft voice. “While Norden lacks for
edible fish off of its coastline, they don't lack for fish suitable
for making into fuel, and those training them are teaching them a
great deal, as well as exporting a lot of 'old' hardware to that
place in exchange for things they want or need.”

“Fish
suitable for making into fuel?” I asked.

“Yes,
those called killer-fish make excellent fuel, and those are very
common in those coastal waters, hence they are killed with poison and
dragged aboard, where they are cut up and tossed into the
fish-holds,” said the soft voice. “More importantly, doing that
has taught Norden a lot about both ship-handling and ship
construction, which is one of the main reasons they've progressed as
much as they have recently.”

“Main
reasons?” I asked.

“A
lot of old and obsolete equipment has gone there, also, and that
location overseas is getting a lot of mostly-refined ferrous alloys
for their equipment,” said the soft voice. “Then, they
have ample amounts of 'black-hole coke' that just needs a bit more
processing to turn it into synthesis coke, and then, there's also the
distillate Norden produces.”

“Norden
produces distillate?” screeched Sarah. I could tell she was
looking at the next island, but I knew that wasn't it. The one we
wanted was one of the largest ones this far north, as 'Spam Island'
was easily four miles long, with a mile-long stretch of fermenting
vats, each of these things white-painted and fifty feet or more high,
with the orange one roughly in the center – while in a large number
of recently-erected boathouses, the most-recent vintage boats –
their wood from Norden, for the most part, while their engines from
this other location at the north end of where we were going to effect
regime-change – were put of an evening, there to be serviced by the
twenty or so individuals that kept those engines running, assembled
the boats themselves, ran the nets through the net-repair machines,
and then reported daily on the net back to their home base at the
northern tip of this island across the 'gulf' from where we were.

Its
northern end was about even with that of the mainland, while where we
would 'enter' that place would need to be near the southeast corner.
From there, perhaps two hundred miles of driving in the course of
twenty-four hours, or perhaps forty-eight...

“That
short of a time?” I gasped.

“Things
will 'start up' within two hours of your arrival in the port proper,”
said the soft voice. “Things will get 'totally out of hand' within
eight hours, and as you take more 'territory', the liberated zone is
going to contribute more and more supplies to what you are doing, so
much so that you only will have to actually 'take' certain places.”

“Including
'spy central',” I murmured. “That, and get the main interface
site, that being at roughly the geographic center of their territory.
Those two places will have to go down to make sure that mess stays
down. We hit their networks, bring all of them down...”

And
yet, somehow, I knew we'd do a lot more than that. The
people in leadership would have one chance, and but one chance
only – and after that was tried, it would be mostly a matter
of just finding them and clearing them out.

Provided
we did our jobs right, that one chance they'd have would be much
closer to 'no chance at all'. If we came in with the networks up and
running, then taking the place would be more or less impossible.

“The
converse is even more true,” said the soft voice. “If you
do a truly good job of taking down their networking equipment,
get the readily-accessible interface people, and get 'spy central' –
then they're on the ropes, and more, a lot of those
blue-suited functionaries are then going to panic, which means
they will swarm out into the main areas – and that apart from any
drug-withdrawal situations that start occurring.”

“And
if even one in ten people out there are armed with ranged weapons,
then the floors of the place will be ankle-deep lakes of blood,” I
muttered. I then saw our target. It was impossible to miss, even at
this speed, and behind us, I could hear, this distinctly.

Faintly.
It was growing louder, though, and that steadily.

“I
can hear that engine,” I muttered. “He's got it 'turned
up all the way' still.” Pause, then, “it's making this clanking
noise, though.”

“If
it is doing that, then either he must stop it quickly, or it
will scatter itself,” said Sarah. “Every time I have heard an
evil engine make that type of a noise...”

“Rod-knock,”
I said. “The bearings have gone loose. It's about to spin
one, I can feel it.”

“Spin...”
Sarah was mystified.

“They
usually quit when that happens,” I said. “That's a bad
sign, especially if it's happening under load, as it does not
get better with time. It only gets progressively worse, and I've
heard of engines going up when their bearings go. Had more
than one do that on me, in fact.”

As
if to signal me that 'it was getting worse, and not wasting time
doing so', I now audibly heard a rattling noise. Sarah turned
to me, then said, “he's got perhaps a turn of a glass, if that. He
either shuts his engine down now, and keeps himself in one piece, or
his engine will scatter itself within a turn of a glass, as I know
that sound.”

“Yes,
but do you know this particular type of engine?” I asked. “For
all we know, that thing might be like that one at the Abbey, and if
you run those right, you can stay out of trouble with
them.”

“Yes,
I know,” said Sarah. “It is not like one in the mines.”
Pause, then, “the same thing happens with Machalaat engines, and
now you tell me it happens with other types, also. So, this one is
likely to be similar.”

“Or
worse yet,” I said. “Now does that wretch use plain bearings on
his lower end, or does he use a built-up crankshaft?”

“The
latter, as is usual for compression-ignition engines, which means
that rattling noise may mean 'he's got seconds' or 'he's got hours' –
and again, when depends on a host of factors, most of which interact,
and but some of which he has some control over,” said the
soft voice. “The way he's running that one, it may and may not
wait until you put a rocket down his stack, as it may just decide to
'let go' before you get the chance – and his ship will go down like
a rock, rocket or no rocket, if that engine goes.”

“Not
going to need much time, then,” I said. “Dear, get ready with
that rocket. I'm going to get about a mile out, then as you line up
on that orange tank, light it off – and then I'm going to keep on
our current course until the smoke hides us from that guy in the big
smoky ship back there. I'll then turn left by feel and compass
heading, and I'll slacken the sail completely once we've gotten the
boat close to shore, as I can tell you're about due for a session
behind a bush.”

“You're
right, I am,” said Sarah. “We'll not wish to spend more time
than I or anyone else on the boat needs, though, as this is still a
very dangerous area, and we want to keep moving as much as we
can until we settle that mess 'good and proper' down in the third
kingdom.”

However,
as I came closer to that one island and its long row of tanks, I
began making comments about it – as in 'it was the best duty
a spam could hope for', and 'the living conditions are as good
as anyone who's from Norden can hope for', and finally, 'the
food is plentiful and the work light, at least by Norden's
standards'.

Sarah
asked me how this was so, and I answered, “they're not like
those spy-groups which are always on the move and half-starving more
often than not, they keep regular hours with no witches handy to
cause trouble, the water they fish in borders on 'grounding' killer
fish – seems those need at least eight feet of water to feel
comfortable, and the area they fish is shallower than that –
so the most they have to worry about is salt-sores, and they don't
get those terribly readily, for some reason.”

“No,
mostly because those are due more to a parasite that is endemic to
salt water that Norden's people are far more resistant to than those
who are born and raised on the mainland,” said the soft voice. “It
will become much less of an issue once Norden's done, as that
location is the chief reservoir of that parasite.”

“Norden's
done?” asked Sarah, as she loaded up a rocket.

“Yes,
when that part of the war is successfully completed,” said the soft
voice. “It will be, it's just mostly a question as to its cost
right now – and I do not mean mere 'monetary' cost.” Pause,
then, “tell those people where you will be going just who you saw,
and how they are having dealings with those people, and they'll see
both of them as hand in glove with one another.”

“Mostly
because to some degree they are, and they support one another
more than I want to admit, and that in all possible ways,” I said.
“Now, dear, there's that orange tank. Our stern chaser is starting
to catch up, as I'm suckering him in. Get ready...”

Not
three seconds later, I heard the pop of the rocket launching. Sarah
had snuck out the back side, and by the way that rocket was flying,
it was going to score a direct hit on that fuel tank. I heard the
faint crack as the rocket broke the sound barrier, then suddenly a
massive white flash blotted out the entire tank farm, and a gouting
mountain of smoke, this easily a mile high and half again as
much more wide, spread out over the course of seconds as Sarah got
back in and changed over the visors on the launcher. She put the one
she'd used in its waterproof bag, then made the rocket launcher ready
for me with the thermal recognition seeker head rocket loaded, and as
I steered slightly east, the smoke began to roll across the water –
still mountainous, still hundreds of yards high, but as for thickness
– it was so thick that I knew that whoever was driving that
ship chasing us was now more or less blind.

“Yes,
for seeing or his other more-usual means of sensing where he is or
where you are,” said the soft voice. “He has other ways
of knowing where he is, and those still work, so he'll not go
aground, and then he'll continue to pound his engine until either it
goes on its own, or you cause it to go – and if you cause it to go,
given its current status, it will go especially hard.”

“Especially
hard,” I thought, as I began to slowly feel my way into the
darkness that was now blotting out the sun. The whole island was now
aflame, it adding vast clouds of thick gray smoke to the dark black
stuff made by millions of gallons of tankage, and I asked, “how
much fish were they catching?”

“More
by the day, such that this area was beginning to become fished out,
and they were needing those engines to get to where they could
catch enough fish to make matters worthwhile,” said the soft voice.
“Then, that 'winsome fish oil' that was in those tanks was just
starting to get converted in quantity, but it had been accumulating
since spring thaw up this way, which was several months ago – and
finally, Norden had its own substantial supplies of fish oil
in sewn oil-tanned animal skins, which they have been using for light
for a very long time, so those got emptied into those tanks also.
Ultima Thule has been listening to her Thinkers about light sources
enough to wonder if the current means in use at Norden are good
enough for many areas – her shipbuilding caverns chief among them.”

“Just
full enough to have a lot of fumes so they'd explode hard,” I said,
regarding that long row of fiercely blazing tanks. I was now heading
around the island, as there was another one directly in my
way, and as the boat emerged from the smoke, I would...

“No,
just run it up into the shallows in this one small lagoon,” I said.
“I can...”

“Not
there,” said the soft voice. “One of the other ways that
Norden's been catching more fish is setting up fishing camps on every
island within a reasonable distance of the one that's now burning
like a torch, and as you get between the two islands, you'll not only
be ready to take your shot, but you'll also want to then run between
the islands and get close to the shore and follow it until you're at
least fifty miles further south – after first beaching the boat so
Sarah and the others can use the privy without fear of those nasty
fish you've named 'Goiters'. Then, you can get out into the area
with wind, as then you will know what time it actually is.”

“Later
than I thought it was, probably,” I murmured. It was actually
early afternoon, and I needed to eat. A cup of beer, then turn the
boat edge on, drop the sail, and then get ready.

I
could feel that other boat, and as I saw its bow begin to
emerge, I placed my hand on the tip of the missile, removed the cap,
touched the very tip and then the region behind that portion, this
being where it was 'set', saw the ship's 'stack' and then, somehow, I
had fired the thing and was back inside the boat bringing up the
sail.

It
was a good thing, as we were catching arrows shot from the trees
nearest the shoreline as we passed by it at an increasing speed, and
as I moved out from the shore away from those...
In the distance, I heard from behind me what sounded like a dull
booming rumble.

A
rumble that built over the course of perhaps half a second to a
shattering roar like that of thunder, and as Sarah looked out the
back door, “that's the end of that boat, as I can see fire coming
above that smoke.”

“Its'
end?” I asked.

“That
engine tore the ship in half when it exploded,” said the soft
voice, “and then the remaining fuel detonated, so that turned both
halves into quick-sinking scrap-metal. That ship-leader was cut off
in mid-scream when his boat exploded under him and disintegrated
him as well.”

“So
now we head toward the shore,” I said. “There's this one little
inlet that I'm going to land about a mile north of, as there's
something in that inlet that's going to want gunfire or a
rocket, only somehow, I think we want to save our rockets for people
or things that need them.”

“Why,
what is it?” asked Sarah. I could tell she needed to go, and when
the beach began to come up suddenly, I barely dropped the sail in
time for the bows to pitch into the sand – and Sarah leaped over
our mound of supplies and ran into the undergrowth with her machine
pistol at the ready.

“Wake
up, sleepers,” I murmured, as I 'kept security'. “Wake up. It's
time to use the privy, one at a time, with the others watching the
area like I am. Karl, Sepp, Gabriel?”

“Yes?”
answered the latter. “Are we there yet?”

“No,
but we are beached, so if you can use the privy, I suggest you do so,
and be quick about it,” said Sarah, as she suddenly returned. “I
just did, and I can feel witches somewhere around here, so we dare
not remain long.”

“Yes,
I know,” I said, as I leaped off the front of the boat and shot
into the brush, rifle at the ready, while the three men followed me
at a sleep-drugged pace. The undergrowth was thick enough for all of
us to do our business quickly, however; but as I got up from going, I
removed a grenade, found a rock, pulled the pin from the grenade, and
then put the rock on top of it in the middle of an obvious
path.

How
I had missed it was a mystery beyond a very
full bladder, and a need to dump
a 'load' equally as badly. Still, I had seen the path after I used
that one large knife to 'make a hole' to receive my leavings.

Like
I had with Joost's brother, I made certain to put this bomb in the
middle of a footprint – a one, one just made within the last two
days, one made with a strange-looking 'clawed' boot of some kind, one
that resembled a round-cornered squared board.

“Now
shove,” yelled Sarah, as I got into the back of the boat and
Gabriel got himself another dose of both tinctures, washing them down
with a cup of beer. Karl and Sepp were doing the shoving, and as
they got in and got back to the shelter where Sarah and I were
sitting, she writing while I worked the sail-steering rudder and the
main rudders, they both began paddling, while I drew back the sail to
its former near-vertical position and began turning the tiller so as
to head south. Not a hundred feet out from land, I began to catch
enough breeze that we began to move, at first slowly, then faster –
and by the time I was two hundred yards out from land, I was catching
enough breeze that we were moving at an easy fifteen miles an hour.

“Further
out, though,” I said, as I kept moving further out from land, all
the while catching more breeze in the sail by adjusting its angle
relative to the wind. “I want at least four hundred yards out from
land for this part, as I'm going to shoot this thing.”

“What
is it?” asked Sepp. “Is it a witch?”

“I'm
not sure yet, but it is involved with witches, it's quite
important, we need to document it carefully, and then we need to deny
its use to the enemy,” I said. “Oh, also, it's not just used by
Norden's people. It's used by local witches, and...”

An
earshattering roar came from somewhere behind us, and the screams
that resulted were but mingled with the crackle of things that
sounded like a large package of 'monstrous' firecrackers and and a
huge rapidly-progressing brushfire.

“What
was that?” gasped Karl.

“I
told you there were witches about,” said Sarah. “Now did
you set a trap?” This last was addressed to me.

“Yes,
a quick one, but it worked on Joost's brother, so chances are any
witch that knows his curses is going to buy that one – and
it seems one just did,” I murmured. “Now that happening
like it did tells me plenty. Those people were on their way down the
coast to this location, and... Oh, there's this headland here. Need
to go around it.”

I
did so, the wind falling off, but as I passed it, I dropped the sail
entirely, then as we coasted, I noted a deep inlet, one overgrown
with brush to each side. I pointed it out.

“Looks
a bit artificial, doesn't it?” I said, picking up my rifle. I
aimed straight into the 'most artificial' part, fired once – and
the bloom of flame that suddenly erupted told me one thing, even as
the flames consumed what was obviously a camouflage 'net' of some
kind to show a Norden-ship.

I
brought the sail up, and moved further out as the wind seemed to
freshen, then as dull 'crump' noises continued, I drew out further
from land, where the wind was stronger than closer to shore.

I
wanted some distance between that boat and where we were, much
as if it was filled with drippy witch-grade dynamite.

More
crumping noises, then as Sarah peered out the back door, she said,
her voice ominous and filled with dread, “I would hurry if I were
you. That's no common Norden-ship, but an old one, and I've heard of
what some witches do with those.”

“What?”
I asked, as our speed picked up to twenty miles an hour, then twenty
five, then thirty. Each further bit of distance was going to help
when that thing went up, as we would then do some 'surfing', and I
was really hoping we would not do 'wipe-out'.

The
wind continued to pick up, and now, I was grabbing all of it I could,
steering in as close as a straight line as I could, finding that
close balance between best speed and shallowest water, when suddenly,
from behind, a titanic flash erupted, and nearly instantly, the sail
jerked and nearly tore. Sarah looked out the back of the boat, this
through the door, then closed it and latched it. “I am glad you
got what distance you did, as that thing made this big gray
witch-table, and...”

“A
nuclear weapon?” I gasped.

“No,
just a lot of 'Norden-grade dynamite',” said the soft voice.
“You got just barely enough distance between it and the boat to
not suffer damage, and now, you're going to ride the wave for about a
mile.”

'Ride
the wave' was not a joke, and I figured that for a mile at least, we
had an extra ten miles an hour worth of speed due to that 'wave'
wrought by a huge explosion. Once it had gone past us, however, I
came in closer to shore, as here, that shallow water would buy us
safety.

“Not
too shallow, though,” I thought. “There's a narrow line that
gives the best combination of speed and safety when this close to
shore, and that condition of safety from both enemies out to sea and
land-based ones – and the ones I'm more worried about out this way
are the land-based ones.”

“True,
which is why once you travel southward another two hours at your
current speed, it will be getting close to apparent dusk, and then
you can move outward of the islands so as to get into the main
shipping lane – and between now and then, while you have good
light, I would have everyone save you, Sarah and Gabriel make up
bombs for use against pirates, then work on those you will want for
'doing' the port.”

“I
put those up already, at least the three round mines,” said Sarah.
“Deborah and I did those, and we had plenty of help with those.”

“Rigged
up and wired?” I asked. “Cap in the well, the wires twisted
together, such that all that needs to happen is we just put them in
front of the door and set them off? Satchel charges?”

While
those things intended for the third kingdom port had been
taken care of, dealing with pirates on our way south had seen little
thought, or so I thought until Karl brought out this one smaller
waterproof pouch. In it he had a mixture of 'metal pears' and
'Cyclohexanite training aides', though what Sepp brought out a minute
later from his supplies was worse yet.

“How
many of those things with the screws did you do?” I asked.

“As
many as I had time for,” said Sepp. “I did at least twenty of
them last night over those I already had, and I crimped and waxed
twenty more caps and friction igniters, then I got some of
that cooking fuel, covered the heads of the screws good with that,
wrapped those things up tightly in rags, and tied those rags good
with string.”

“They're
capped and ready to go?” I gasped.

“No,
I have this thing from Lukas,” he said. “It is like that tool
you use to clear the hooves of a horse, only it is a bad copy of a
good one, not one like you have, and then I had that one woman who's
about as big as Sarah do something to it with a file so it makes
holes like that one awl you have does.”

“So
you poke the ball and stick in the cap, and tie it up just before we
use them,” I said. “Better do that part now, as when we
start going after pirates, there isn't going to be time for doing
those things.”

“Yes,
I know,” said Sepp. “I want to tie that fuse onto those things
good, too, and then wrap them up with more rags with some of that
grease on them, so those thugs will not know what they are.”

“Bigger
fire, and more smoke, also,” I said. “Now with those, I can go
by one of their boats close enough at speed in the darkness, you pull
the string as I come up on it, you toss it as I go past its middle
area, and it goes off as I get clear. Most likely, that will cause
them trouble.”

“If
they are carrying distillate, it will set them alight,” said Sarah.
“That, or a metal pear. Now if you should fly, though, then I
think you want to rise up just as you get even with their forward
mast, as that is where the distillate is, and I can shoot into it.”

“No,
that would blow us up,” said Sepp.

“Not
if I shoot into it...” Sarah shook her head, then said, “no, I
had best just shoot from a distance if we do that. If we are close,
best toss a bomb of some kind so as to give us a chance to get clear
before that stuff goes up.”

“Specially
if it's that really stinky distillate,” I said. “Esther
said it was cap-sensitive, so with that stuff, putting a training
aide into their distillate will cause that ship to go up like it was
filled full of dynamite.”

However,
as we made our plans and readied our supplies, and I steered while
Sarah either took notes or sightings and consulted her maps, I made
some strange comments, this about the third ditch and how all of
those people had had so many fused sticks of dynamite and a
'medium' grade of distillate – one neither light nor heavy, but in
between the two. It was the best type for starting 'big hot fires'
that ignited explosively. The crude stuff, that named 'exudate' by
Sarah, did so also; but, it tended to burn a lot longer – and it
also made the most smoke of anything that came out of a 'sump'.

“It
makes sense, then,” said Sarah. “I can tell we're close to about
as far south as home is now, as the sun looks normal for
midafternoon.”

“Apparent
dusk on the sea?” I asked.

“Is
earlier than it is at home,” said Sarah. “It actually gets 'dim'
quite a long time before it's indeed dark, and most ships furl their
sails then, unless they are of a few that run during the
night.” Pause, then, “though if you see a ship with a lot of
people on it dressed in black, then you know what it is, and
that whether it's running a black flag with a design on it or no flag
at all.”

“Pirate?”
I asked.

“That,
or a witch-ship, one from the fifth kingdom, and those people act
enough like pirates to suit me,” said Sarah. “I've seen what
they do then, and the usual is to have those black-dressed stinkers
do little save what witches usually do, while four or perhaps five
people actually run their ships.”

“Slaves?”
I asked. “Ragged clothing, and no hair on them?”

“I
have wondered for a very long time, and that is the best answer I
have heard yet,” said Sarah. “Now, there is something important
about that ship from Norden that went up like a powder mill, and you
mentioned how they had so much of that stuff at the third ditch. Are
the two related?”

“I
suspect they are, dear,” I said. “Those people from Norden
either have their own powder mill, or they're being supplied with,
uh, old outdated shell filling rocked and packaged like dynamite –
a lot less sensitive, as they'd most likely scatter themselves with
the usual stuff.”

“You're
right, they would,” said Sarah. “So why would they use outdated
shell filling and package it as dynamite...” Sarah looked at me,
then said, “that's right. They're dumping all their old worn-out
stuff up there, save when it helps achieve their goals to give Norden
better things...”

“A
lot more 'old' than 'worn-out', dear,” said the soft voice. “The
usual for anything that's destined for Norden's use is that
it's first gone through entirely to bring it up to 'new' levels of
functioning and 'wear', then it's 'reworked so it's fit for trashed
witches', and finally, it's 'overbuilt' so as to endure a lot of
abuse – as it gets that in those people's hands. That's why that
old shell filling is usually 'cut' with cheaper and less sensitive
explosives and then mixed with waxy fuels and oxidizers so as to make
an explosive that's as close to 'idiot-proof' as is possible – as
while Ultima Thule thinks she understands her 'benefactors', those
among them that correspond to her Thinkers understand her
people far better still – and they think Norden's people to
be superior 'cannon-fodder' if otherwise not terribly useful.”

“And
then, what they have at Norden itself?” I asked. “Something
about a cheap, insensitive explosive that, while it's not the
strongest stuff to be had, is thought by their handlers to be 'good
enough'?”

“Closer
to a hotter species of small-arms propellant as to chemistry,
actually, but it is cap-sensitive,” said the soft voice.
“It injection-molds readily, so it's quite easy to make a peculiar
type of bomb. You've heard of an 'emergency' explosive of a similar
nature, and Norden has some facilities for making that
material – though Ultima Thule has charged her 'Chemists' with
making mining dynamite, and they are making a non-trivial
level of progress, given the fact that more than one Thinker has
spent some time in a fifth kingdom powder mill recently, one which
made 'witch-grade dynamite' – and some of what was at the third
ditch was dynamite made at Norden, even if it wasn't
terribly good.”

“Bomb?”
I asked.

“Yes,
with a pull-type igniter, three layers of notched work-hardened
medium carbon steel wire, with the whole assembly molded of a
cheap species of plastic and then automatically assembled and then
sealed with a glued-on lid. It's so simple to use that your
typical tinned Spam can use it safely – relatively speaking, of
course.” The soft voice was definitely inferring that 'life is
especially cheap at Norden' and 'tinned spams tend to have trouble
with things that complex'.

“Simple?”
I asked.

“Unscrew
the bottom of the handle, pull it until smoke comes out of it, then
toss the whole thing like one of those stick-type grenades you've
heard about, save those being made at Norden actually have decent
blast and fair short-range fragmentation – about like a damp squib
for blast and somewhat better levels of fragmentation, as that steel
wire is near glass-hard and it's denser than the ceramic used in
ink-globes.”

“That
sounds bad enough to suit me,” said Sepp. “So, when will we
start seeing those thugs tossing bombs?”

“They
already do,” I spat. “They were tossing enough of them at the
third ditch.”

“No,
like this kind we just heard about,” said Sepp. “You give a
capped stick of dynamite, or anything like it to one of those people,
and he is as likely to eat it as he is to light it and toss it unless
he has been shown what to do with it as if he were fit to wear three
nested brass cones, but these other things sound about simple enough
for those thugs to use them and cause trouble for us – and not blow
themselves up terribly often while doing that.”

“Especially
given that they're now using them during 'training' up at Norden,”
said the soft voice. “Figure on seeing some of those within a few
months, though Ultima Thule hopes to stockpile them for next year, so
she will be most-sparing of them this summer.”

“Then
why were there so many of those things at the third ditch?” I
asked. “Both kinds – dynamite made up at Norden – perhaps as
strong as farmer's dynamite, if that – and that other stuff?”

“Ultima
Thule was more than a little overconfident about that group of
people, and while their 'better' grade of thug generally knows what
to do with such things if he's been taught at some length, the
attrition rate during that instruction isn't even close to being a
joke – and that's for those thugs which have the twin teeth
markings, and also good weapons and 'tin', indicating they're
potentially leadership material,” said the soft voice. “The ones
that are on their first outings are not much smarter about such
things than what Sepp implied.”

“Now,
what else did we do when that one Norden-ship blew up?” I asked.
Sarah was definitely listening, even as I followed the coastline.
Simple enough to do – no compass needed, just stay between three
and four hundred yards west from the coast, and keep an eye peeled
for trouble – which, relatively speaking, was pretty thin in this
area right now.

“Firstly,
you got all of the west-side datramonium north of where you're
heading,” said the soft voice. “That boat had the remainder of
the dried material, and there wasn't much left, so there aren't too
many functional Spams right now on the continental mass.”

“Those
on the islands?” I asked.

“The
greatest number of them are dead, dying, or wondering how
they're going to get food, even if they still have plenty of
datramonium,” said the soft voice. “Otherwise, though –
shooting that ship sealed up a major shipping route for witches of
all kinds, as that ship was not merely a floating warehouse of sorts,
but there were other well-hid warehouses of one kind or another in
the area – and that ship, along with its contents, was commonly
winched out of the way when they wished to pass into the lagoon it
was hiding and get at what else was there, when coming by sea.
Overland, similar story – one needed to know how to get through
those heavily-trapped trees to get to the place, and not many
domestic witches did – and none of Norden's, so it was the main
'commerce' place between the two on the west coast.”

“Was
it there long?” I asked.

“Longer
than you might think possible, as it was an unusual ship,” said the
soft voice. “It was one of the first ships that Norden built that
was capable of traveling across the northern channel by any
means whatsoever, so while it needed rowing all the way here and it
took two weeks of round-the-clock labor by a specially-picked group
of those thugs, it was built with 'no' shortcuts, relatively
speaking, unlike the current ones – but that one needed an entire
year to make, not part of a month like they do now – and that
period is steadily shrinking as more and more equipment is
transferred up to Norden.”

“And
then, of course, the local witches,” I said. “No fishermen in
this area, because they had to worry about the place swarming with
domestic witches, and then Norden's people, and finally, pirates and
spies, so...”

“Fishermen,
if they do their business this far north, either do it on the east
side of the mouth of the Main, or they go west past the shipping
lanes and further away from land,” said the soft voice. “This
entire area, including where you are now traveling, is thought by
such people to be the property of Norden, and they stay well clear of
all of the islands until you get a lot further south. You can
readily guess as to why.”

“Pirates,
those people with the smoky ships, and Spams,” I spat. “No
honest fisherman wants any of those people handy, not when he's
trying to earn a living.”

“You
left out one matter,” said the soft voice. “This area, at least
for certain types of fish, until recently, was a prime fishing ground
– and the nature of these fish is that by this time next year, it
will once more be such a fishing ground, with most of the islands
being the overnight bases of fishermen.”

“And
until then?” I asked.

“Norden
isn't going to do much fishing in this area now, not when their main
fishing station is gone and many of the subsidiary ones will
shortly have starving people on them,” said the soft voice. “That
other location isn't going to get rebuilt, as it took them years
to build it and they do not have years – and then, of
course, there's what happens when that one Curse breaks.”

“What's
that?” I asked, as I steered around a headland and saw a straight
shot, one that was just too tempting to pass up. I set the sail for
'maximum drive' and the boat began to move, so much so that
within moments, that 'straight shot' of nearly ten miles was covered,
I had come to another headland – and then, for some reason, I
looked out to sea.

Not
eight hundred yards off was an obvious sailing vessel, and a single
glance at the thing gave me the chills. I then saw it had no flag,
and when Sarah looked through her rifle's 'scope, she spat, “that
is a pirate, all right.”

“Up
this far north?” I asked.

“He
was probably heading to that one place,” said Sarah – who then
fired.

The
bang deafened me, but what happened to the ship was worse.

Something
near its foremast went up in a massive ball of flame that then turned
into a huge atomic-mushroom eruption of black smoke and red-yellow
fire, and as I sailed on, the shockwave gave me no small difficulty
so far as riding it out. Only when I had gone around another
headland did it quit disturbing the water and wind.

“That's
one less pirate,” said Sarah. “Now if there's one sailing up
this way, there are likely to be more.” Pause, then, “now
this...” She consulted her maps, then said, “good, we're about
half way to the second kingdom port.”

“We
are?” I asked.

“You're
moving quite rapidly,” said Sarah. “No, you're not flying the
boat, but you're moving fast enough that I can tell it might draw
half its normal depth for its keels, so all you must worry about is
your rudders dragging the bottom, that and keeping them coordinated –
and this is fast enough where you need to do so, and it takes a light
touch – and I have gone fast enough on this boat to speak of the
matter, even if it was in the river.” Sarah then sighted on a
landmark, and as she looked at the 'brass cube's' faintly glowing
figures, she shook her head.

“How
did you figure our speed using this tool?” she asked.

I
talked her through the last stage of the process, then after talking
her through the process twice more, she did so without me speaking of
the matter – and this time got a 'believable' result. “Thirty-nine
and four tenths miles in an hour's time. That's easily five times
what a well-sailed ship manages.”

“Not
in a straight line, and at these speeds, I'm most likely the only one
who can handle it out on open water,” I said. “Now where is it
we turn out and get out of these islands that are starting to make me
wonder just which of them is hiding a trio of pirate ships?”

“Close
to apparent dusk,” said Sarah. “So we were told, but if you can
feel pirates nearby...”

“Get
ready, dear,” I said. “Three of them, line astern, no further
than maybe two hundred yards apart so they stay in touch
readily, because they're as good as blind unless the sun is
overhead. Hit the one furthest to the north, hit his distillate, and
then the others will crash into him as he catches fire and then
explodes.”

There
was but one trouble: Sarah was not the only person shooting. Sepp
and Karl were also, and when the first northbound ship went up in a
huge ball of flame, Sarah stopped shooting, while the other two fired
a few more rounds – until suddenly the second ship disintegrated in
response to the first 'detonating' with a huge column of fire, while
the third one received a mass of flaming rigging from number two.
His sails went up like tinder, one piece of flaming rigging from his
foremast fell onto the deck as his crew scrambled crazily – and he
was instantly burning like a torch.

“That
one's busy enough to leave us be,” said Sepp. “I had no idea
those people were carrying so much distillate and dynamite.”

“Not
sure how much of either, even if I know all of them were carrying
some of each,” I said. “Sarah, or someone I've seen very
recently, told me that if a ship is carrying distillate, it will
usually be secured at the base of the most-forward mast – and those
people had barrels of the stuff, not jugs, so that meant any flames
close to it would cause a fire.”

Pause.

“If
I go by the ships I've seen so far, none have had more than two
masts, none more than perhaps eight sails, and none of them have come
close to that one that had that evil engine for size, not even those
last two pirate ships – and those were the largest ones I've seen
so far that were carrying sail.”

“Those
were large ships,” said Sarah. “Most ships that slide
down the ways where they are built are between one hundred and twenty
to one hundred and fifty feet long, as smaller than that size-range
carries little cargo if it has an adequate crew, and larger takes
more time to build and money to buy, and then larger ships need more
money to operate,” said Sarah. “That size range I spoke of seems
to work the best, based on those I have spoken to, and that
size-range what slides down the ways the most in the fourth kingdom –
which is where most ships worth the bother are built.”

“Do
they slide ships in the second kingdom?” I asked.

“No,
as if they slid one it would most likely sink before it floated an
hour, and the third kingdom port isn't much better for building
ships,” said Sarah, “even if the third kingdom does do a
deal of business repairing ships and fitting them out, more than
almost anywhere I know of – and their sliding places are busy.”

“The
fifth kingdom?” I asked.

“They
do slide ships, and they do stay afloat, though how
they manage that is a mystery,” said Sarah. “They slide a lot
of them, also, but I did learn enough from my times in that place and
in the fourth kingdom that if a ship slides in the fifth kingdom's
yards, it usually needs to be sailed somewhere else to be reworked to
a degree so as to sail decently, and that as soon as it gets in the
water. Only Norden's ships are much worse for workmanship, and not
their newer ones, but one like that one that exploded.”

“Their
newer ones?” I asked.

“Those
worry me,” said Sarah. “I've seen those things change more in
the last three years than I could believe possible, and every time
I've seen one recently it's been a better ship for sailing than the
one before, and then the joinery seems to be improving steadily as
well.”

Time
'marched' on, and when Sarah gave me a rest from sailing the boat, I
found myself first eating and drinking as if famished, then using
that rear platform at the back of the boat – and once back inside,
I found myself collapsing in slumber as if clubbed to then awaken
'some time later'.

“Good
that you got a nap, yawn,” said Sarah. “I think I might get one
once we're south of that second kingdom port, unless you're going to
try flying the boat then and we are to thin out a lot of ships.”

“Uh,
apparent dusk?” I asked. I then pointed toward the east, and noted
that the islands were now seeming to both become smaller and further
apart. The last of them was about even with the second kingdom's
port.

“I
would take the tiller and start moving out now,” said Sarah. “It
is very close, and if you get me a chance to consult my maps and take
sightings, then I can tell where we are. I know you slept a bit more
than an hour, if I go by what the sun did for moving.”

“It
went down noticeably, correct?” I asked. “Did Karl and Sepp get
ready with their bombs?”

“Yes,
and they moved those bags so they can get to all we'll need in that
port,” said Sarah, as I took the controls in a barely-contained
maneuver that nearly had us doing a 'wipe-out'.

“You
might go faster,” muttered Sepp, “but I can tell she's a good
pilot, as she's not slow at all running this thing, and then
she's been along this coast before, so she was going in a straight
line when and where she could and using the islands for cover when
they were to be had – and she wasn't hardly slowing at all for
them.”

“Any
more pirate ships?” I asked.

“Not
that I could see, but I was not looking for them, but rather at what
I was doing,” said Karl. “I was stuffing all of my magazines
with ammunition once I got the bombs done, as if you get the boat to
fly, I might just shoot at some of those smoky lanterns that witches
like.”

“Best
do that as we fly past them at a distance, Karl,” said Sarah. “If
he flies over one, though, I'm going to drop something on those
people, either that or hang on.”

“We
all had best do that,” said Sepp. “Now you get your things
ready, as the sun is dropping like a hot brick, and I can see
lights to the south and west.”

“Those
would be ships,” said Sarah, pointing at the northernmost of that
long string of lights. “That's your course. I think you
might wish to go due south then, as that's the strong-wind zone, and
I suspect most of those ships have their sails furled, with perhaps
one or two part-furled so they don't drift onto the shore.”

I
did as Sarah spoke, but as I steered further away from land, I had to
dodge more than one island, as these things blocked wind and I needed
to keep the sail filled. The smaller ones, I could coast around
without slowing much, but I was not inclined to tack much, and
therefore I headed south-southwest for the most part, now heading
between islands and using them for shields while still catching as
much wind as I could.

However,
as I came past one island, the half-dozen or so 'pulsating' lights I
saw had me speak to one of the others, and within seconds, all three
had fired several rounds – until suddenly one of the pulsating
lights billowed flames, they climbed up into the rigging, and within
seconds, the aft third of that ship was burning.

“I'll
say,” said Sarah, as she fired a final round at that ship. The
resulting eruption of fire spoke of her hitting the main cargo of
distillate, wherever it actually was on that ship. “The two of
you, you need to either toss bombs or shoot when we're closer, as I
can hit their lights or cargoes much easier.”

“Yes,
because you're a better shot,” said Sepp.

“Not
just that,” I said. “That type of rifle was made for
accuracy, with those like hers and what I have needing special
fitting. Then, they have some really strange optics that
permit closer aiming...”

“That
was what I meant,” said Sarah. “They give you better night
vision also, and then they tell you how much to lead your target,
even at your current speed, so you don't need to have burned a
lot of powder and lead shooting at wood pigeons and buzzards
to be able to hit moving things.”

“Have
you shot at wood-pigeons?” asked Karl.

“Yes,
many times,” said Sarah. “They're generally not worth the bother
to shoot, even if they are not squabs.”

“Each
bird needs its own weight in powder and lead?” I asked.

“No,”
said Sarah. “I've brought down many of those birds, and I rarely
needed more than my gun held to drop at least one.” Pause, then,
“they're still greasier than grain-glutted quolls during the middle
of harvest, so they need boiling and then roasting if you
don't want to get corked, and then they give one an odor that reminds
me of witches, so the only times I had one for food after eating part
of that first one was if it was do that or starve.”

“Then
why did you shoot them?” asked Karl. I was still heading for open
water, dodging islands, keeping the sail full as possible; and I had
my hands full and my eyes were looking ahead and to each side
in the fast-gathering gloom so as to avoid cracking up on the shallow
bottom between many of these islands.

“Because
many Public Houses would pay good prices for them, and I do not mean
those which had witches or misers or supplicants for clientèle,”
said Sarah. “A lot of people can eat those, same as many
people can eat Vlai – and you may well have heard how I
do around Vlai.”

“Yes,
so you two know that isn't a food either of you wish to eat,” said
Sepp. “I doubt I will ever eat it again, actually, as I can tell
something is going to happen. What, I am not sure, but I'm going to
get marked by the end of harvest this year – and I am sure of
that.”

I
could see but a handful more islands, and once I'd passed one
particular large one, I knew that now I had 'open water'.

“Not
in that one place where the wind is the strongest, though,” I said.
“Got to get out further, out where that... My God! All of those
ships, all of them with lights burning, and...”

“If
it pulsates, it is a wick-lantern burning distillate, and if it's
really bright and yellowish, then it's an Infernal lantern – and if
you can get within a few hundred yards of those at your current
speed, then it is likely I can hit one of those with but a few
shots,” said Sarah. “I hope I will not become too sore from much
shooting, at least until we get into that port.”
Pause, then, “we will all become sore there.”

I
kept to my south-southwest course however, and with each passing
minute, the line of ships drew nearer, the islands drew further away
to the east, and the wind grew stronger. The sail-rudder and the
other rudders were interacting now, and as the line of craft grew
closer to 'straight ahead, I adjusted the sail for maximum speed –
or so I thought until I saw a plume of thick smoke to the southeast.
It wasn't that far away. I could tell that much – that, and there
was a lot of smoke, much as if a town the size of the first
kingdom house was burning.

“That
is the second kingdom port,” said Sarah. “Now for that, we shall
wish to slow if possible, but it is too dark for me to write well.”

“Use
a battery torch, turn it down all the way, and have Sepp hold it just
above your ledger, with a yellow filter on the lens,” I said. “It
will look like a bad tallow candle this far out, and if I stay
away from those ships over there, they most likely are not going to
notice if I continue moving and they're not looking for us.”

That
was done, and when I 'dropped the sail' to the rear so as to bring
our speed down to perhaps twenty miles an hour, I steered in somewhat
closer to land. I still wished to stay at least a mile out from
land, as those witch-crewed batteries might well see us otherwise,
and I wanted to give the first of this long line of ships a wide
berth also.

More,
I could feel the state of many of those ships. Some were bound for
this port with 'legitimate' cargoes, but those were rare.

Most
of these ships had enough witch-gear in them to make them 'subject to
disposal', and therefore, they would need to be dealt with. The
chief question was 'how many of them did I want to do tonight',
and comparatively speaking, which was more important: getting rid of
the pirates and witch-shipments headed up to the first kingdom, or
clearing out the third kingdom port.

“Clear
out that third kingdom port, and the pirates have few places that are
safe for them to go beyond the fifth kingdom house,” said the soft
voice, “and then those people across the sea, once liberated, will
sink any such vessel they see – and they have ways of seeing inside
of wooden-hulled ships readily, and they can tell what ships have at
substantial ranges – and they'll not be even a little chary of
shooting rockets at any such ship they see.”

“Metal-hulled
ones, also,” I said. “Those ships may be staffed by 'proles',
but those people are sober, hardworking, and have a lot of
equipment...”

“No,
they are not running witch-gear,” said the soft voice.
“That's the big reason the leadership over there cannot just
get new people to replace them – they've all needed to be
schooled and trained for years before they see one of
those craft. Then, that equipment requires a lot of repairs
both at sea and in harbor, it needs well-trained and
intelligent operation to get any information out of it that
makes sense, and then any craft that is designed to submerge and then
surface once more is a very different beast compared to one
that's merely designed to stay afloat.”

“All
volunteers for those things, then you had to do 'qualifications' –
and that was for the commonplace duty,” I murmured, as Sarah took
notes at what she saw as I 'moved silently' closer to a badly damaged
port. “If you were keeping the engines going, though – different
story entirely, and no, you could not run those boats like fetishes,
not if you wanted to live very long.”

“Yes,
and that place over there still has its share, either that or many
fires are still burning,” said Sarah. “What do you see?”

“Fires,
mostly, though a lot of them are roaring through those multiple-level
basements a lot of those places have,” I said. “Now where is
that really big witch-battery with its new
just-brought-out rotten cannons? Here, you telescope-toting witch,
look out here... Break out that thing, and let it go up hard.”

As
if on cue, a sudden huge 'atomic' blast erupted, and as the massive
wall of fire spread outward visibly – the shockwave from
that telescope exploding was huge – I saw previously
smoldering buildings now flying apart from something closer to the
effect of a small nuclear weapon than anything else that could have
one time been fired out of an artillery piece. The flickering
white-tinted red and yellow flashes that then resulted washed over us
like a nightmare, and I then let the sail go forward.

“Why..?”
asked Sarah, as the boat gathered speed.

“No
time for it, dear,” I said, as I now had to coordinate both the
tiller and sail-rudder to get 'maximum drive'. “Those ships out to
sea saw our shadow when that place went up like it did, and
then it got their attention, and we can expect them to know 'someone
is out there and we want them dead'.”

“True,”
said the soft voice. “Now, thread yourself in among them, as then
they'll be shooting at each other as much as at you, and that will
permit you to cause maximum casualties with minimal risk to
yourselves.”

“Uh,
fly?” I asked.

“Yes,
and do so in the manner suggested to you, and have the others tie
themselves down as your speed builds. They're going to be tossing
bombs for the most part, as you can figure any ship up this
way running a light on deck that's at all brighter than a bad
tallow candle is up to no good.”

“Not
much of one in the pilot house,” I said, as the boat now began to
'get light' and the others began to wedge their feet under the first
row of bags, all of them with satchels filled with bombs of one kind
or another in their hands. The boat was about to take wing, and
while we were moving too rapidly to be readily hit by cannon touched
off with port-fires, we could catch hits from boarding muskets
filled with loopers.

“Most
of those people are not accustomed to shooting dark-colored
wood-pigeons on a dark night,” said the soft voice, “and when
you're flying, you're moving as fast as a wood pigeon in a
hurry.”

I
was now ahead of the first boat, this one showing bow lights that
pulsated, and I pulled up to the left of him, the boat now nearly
four feet above the surface of the water. As we drew closer, I gaged
his deck height better, then as we passed his stern, I leaned back,
caught another eight feet, then cranked it over hard with sail and
rudders, and someone pitched something over the side as I then
straightened out and banked hard and down to the left as gunfire
blasted wildly in our wake. I'd barely got back down to the 'ground
effect level' when a sudden flash lit up the night behind us, then
flames climbed high into the sky like a massive bonfire.

“Who
tossed what?” I squeaked.

“I
did, and I think that was a metal pear, if I go how it felt in my
hand before I tossed it,” said Sarah. “I think if you cross that
way, then I should toss, but if you go the other, then Sepp. Karl is
helping the one tossing stay put, and I hope this nonsense finishes
up before our legs become dead to the world.”

“It
will, dear, as we're going to be in that port within three
hours at this speed,” I said, as I went slightly wide, then
suddenly turned, banking hard enough that the left rudder nearly
dragged its tip in the water, then flew straight with wind to my
back, this now fast enough to make the wind scream like a siren in my
ears, and as I shot over the deck crosswise of a ship, someone –
who, I knew not – threw a bomb at the pilot house. The thing was
spewing sparks as I came down, diving, turning hard right, then
angling the sail and shooting due south again in the fast-gathering
darkness.

It
was now 'night', and as I drew ahead at a speed that made for a
slow-building shriek in my ears, a speed I recognized as 'this is as
fast as I've ever gone before', I felt rather than saw a
massive bloom of light come from behind, then as I drew my path along
side of another boat, I said to the others, my voice shrill and
cutting, “this one, shoot at the distillate. I'm going to pass it
at two hundred yards. Get ready with your rifle, Sarah – aim...
Fire!”

I
had gotten level with the foremast, popping up near the stern, then
as a steady stream of 'hot red tracer' lanced out, it seemed that
Sarah was not just going after the distillate.

She
was shooting everything that looked flammable, and as I began
to drop the boat down into 'ground effect', the flames were burning
so tall and bright that I knew it left shadows to each side and
caused those to our south to be night-blind if they looked to the
north.

“Skip
the next two, as neither one of these people's carrying much of
anything except fishing equipment and dried fish,” I said. “Don't
want to be even close to predictable, as... Yes, they are
signaling. Dear, if you can, try to hit that signal light.”

A
sudden crack, then another, then a third – and the light did not go
out. Instead, it bloomed brilliant and white-hot, its fireball
erupting nearly as high as the rear mast of the ship Sarah had aimed
at, then as I shot between the two that I planned to ignore, I came
upon another ship further out to sea, this one...

“Full-time
pirate dead ahead,” I spat. “Going to rip right beside his
gun-ports on his west side, and Sepp, toss something in there
as I pass.”

I
was as good as my word, and as I passed the first gun-port, I saw him
toss something out of the corner of my eye. I could barely
hear him speak, as I dove hard to the right and then doglegged, this
to give us an added two hundred yards of room, as he'd not just
tossed one of his 'screwballs' inside the gun-deck.

That
bomb had landed on or near a partial box of drippy mining dynamite,
and when I'd gone perhaps another hundred yards past the bow of the
boat, the shockwave from that craft's destruction nearly dumped the
boat in the water.

“That
was a close one,” I spat, as I shot between two boats perhaps four
hundred yards apart and let Sarah shoot their distillate at a range
of perhaps two hundred yards, first to the left with Karl and Sepp
laying flat, then to her right. Those fires grew so fiercely and to
such a magnitude that I dove for the water and pulled out just in
time, now trusting in raw speed and trickiness, as when those
boats exploded, their convolved blast once more nearly dumped us into
the water.

“No
more boats for a few miles, people,” I said. “I nearly soiled my
underclothing with that last one.”

“No
nearly about me,” said Karl. “I have damp stuff, but no dung,
and I am glad I got that out when you beached the boat earlier.”

“Same
here,” said Sarah. “Now, I think I would rather endure a sore
shoulder than be blown up, so I'm going to try to shoot their
distillate if they are hauling more than a small amount, or any
signal lights...”

“There's
one, right there,” I yelled, as somehow I did a wall-climbing
maneuver that had us flying over the stern of a ship, this one more
or less blacked out until he'd started signaling to his south, and
when I ducked down, someone loosed a burst from a machine-pistol that
started a huge fire on that ship, one that grew relatively slowly –
at least until I got a few hundred yards ahead of its bow.

It
then exploded so hard that our sail nearly tore, and I asked who had
shot at the signaler.

“I
did, though it was one-handed,” said Sepp, “and I'm lucky I hit
that lantern. I know I got the man using it, and that stinker was
glowing red like a bad witch.”

“So
they will now be tricky, and they seem to be getting wise to us,” I
said. “Seems we'd best deal with them at range for a while. I'm
going further out to sea, as...”

“Yes,
you want to do that, as they will not expect it, and then you will be
on the water, and not flying,” said Sarah. She then thought to
look to our rear.

“I
have no idea how fast you were going,” she said, as I angled
further west in the 'main sea lane', “but I think you went a good
third of the distance from the second kingdom port to the third, and
you did it so quickly I had no idea it was possible to travel that
fast.”

“Faster
than a wood-pigeon?” I asked, as the boat began to gradually
settle. It seemed inclined to fly for a while yet, though it was
just barely airborne now. No longer was it flying 'well over a
hundred miles an hour', even if it was moving fast enough to not
touch down.

At
least, it took a while longer to touch down, which it did when I got
out over a mile further west from what was obviously a long line of
ships. “Let those people coming up here thin out the pirates.”

“You
got the worst ones already,” said the soft voice. “Those that
remain – all part-timers; you got every full-timer – are going to
be much less inclined toward piracy, even if they are still
going to ship witch-loads of distillate and other supplies given a
sufficient price for doing so.”

“Sufficient
price?” I asked.

“Figure
that when they see that where such cargo was to go is now more or
less wrecked, and in the process of getting there, find all of that
floating charred wreckage, a lot of those people are going to give
anything that looks like piracy second, third, and fourth
thoughts – at least until those boats start coming up here and
shooting anything with sails that doesn't clearly identify itself as
not being a pirate,” said the soft voice. “They'll either
sup with Brimstone quickly, or give up on the matter entirely and 'go
fish' – which while it pays poorly compared to hauling
witch-cargoes or piracy, it tends to pay steadily – and more, one
usually lives long enough to actually enjoy the relative 'pittance'
one does earn.”

“So
we got their northern port, the second kingdom port is trashed, the
worst pirates and witch-ships are sunk, and now we're going to clean
house in the third kingdom port,” I said. “Going to be very
unwise to be a pirate after tonight.”

“It
has already become unwise in the minds of about half of those
part-time pirates that yet engage in it, and those that don't think
that currently are going to have another thing coming inside of a
month.”

“A
m-month?” I asked, as the boat continued heading south rapidly at a
steady speed. Here, the three 'passengers', using turned-down
tent-lanterns, began arraying their supplies for the third kingdom
port. After a short time, however, Sarah took over once the sail was
'dropped' enough to move forward at a steady speed without making the
boat 'tricky' to handle – which was still moving 'rapidly' compared
to anything else I'd seen on the water, if I went by the wind on my
face. I began using the telescope, now no longer needing dark
goggles, merely the 'usual' ones for daytime use that kept the wind
and 'grit' endemic in the first kingdom out of my eyes.

“Look
for a bright fire to the southeast somewhere,” she said. “It
will be up high, easily as high as the tops of a ship's masts.”

“Yes,
I see it,” I said. “Bright fire, dear – there are people
tossing wood on that, and I can count them with this thing.
Three of them tossing wood right now, and that's one big
fire.”

“Get
its angle if you can,” said Sarah. “We will wish surprise to
take that place, which means hitting it from close in, much closer to
shore than we are, and we will not have surprise if we wait much
longer.”

“Then
we wait until there's a wider gap, like this one about, uh, thirty
miles or so ahead,” I said, as I took down the telescope from my
eye and put it in its waterproof case, “and then I thread the boat
through that spot while it's flying, and then I touch down about four
hundred yards out from shore and turn south again, though I may try
turning while still airborne so as to 'land' heading south and
achieve better speed and surprise that way, as if those boats signal
to each other heading south, then they might well tell someone
watching in that port or that place near it.”

“You
might fly this thing, but I can steer it at this speed,” said
Sarah. “It is tiring, so I am glad that we'll be able to rest once
we're in that port, at least for the rest of the night.”

“With
a guard mounted, one person awake at a time,” I said. “Everyone
sleeps with their rifles in their hands, loaded and ready to go, and
otherwise... Otherwise, we'll just wait until someone comes to fetch
us in the morning when the sun comes up. It rises later down here
compared to home right now, doesn't it?”

“About
now, not much,” said Sarah. “High Summer, yes, about two hours'
worth, but now, perhaps half of that.”

With
the sail back 'up', the wind was now enough to get us into the region
where both 'rudders' interacted to a marked degree, and when I saw
the edge of that gap open, I began to turn into it, adjusting sail
for 'maximum drive' the whole time. Within perhaps fifteen seconds,
the boat lifted off, then as I went due east, the wind at my back,
Sarah fired three times at this one boat, one with a huge light on
its bow.

The
light disintegrated in a huge flash of flame, and as I began a slow
turn to the south, I saw clearly where we were.

Perhaps
another hundred miles to go, though at our current speed, how long
that would take would be a mystery. I was still angling toward
slowly toward the shoreline, but due to its more-even nature, I found
that I might well go in closer than the few hundred yards I had
managed earlier.

I
instantly knew that wasn't wise, as there was this one sizable
headland, one big enough to block our wind, just ahead of the third
kingdom port, and while this headland acted much like a breakwater,
there was one of those also.

More,
once one got down that far, the wind would either be hard
enough to not wish to try sailing into port – meaning our sail
would need downing and bagging then – or we would need to drop it
as far back as possible.

“No,
down and bag it, as that way it cannot flap, and we can paddle in
slowly,” I thought. “The place will be getting its' wick trimmed
for an evening's carouse about the time we get there, and then
matters are going to be hot indeed for a while.”

“Yes,
if 'a while' is 'the time it takes to count to a hundred if you work
at it',” said the soft voice. “More, you do want to use paddles,
and more, you want to wake Gabriel up while you take down the sail –
as he's going to need to man a paddle, then do his portion with Karl
dealing with the drink-houses.”

“And
then he's really going to see the hare,” I muttered. “Good
practice for all of us, as we will be dealing with hundreds of
thugs...”

“Yes,
in a few places, perhaps as few as two or three overseas,”
said the soft voice. “Most of the time, you're going to be finding
where the leadership is hiding itself, liberating supplies for the
'commons', or 'cracking' their equipment further; while when
you-all go to take one of their locations, it's going to be a lot
like what you're going to do shortly – get in, shoot the place up,
blow up anything that looks likely, and then get out – and all of
it done as quickly as is possible.”

“Five
minutes tops?” I asked.

“Yes,
if you speak of 'spy central' or the bigger places, or one or
two of their other locations if you happen to find them,” said the
soft voice. “Most of the places that you take are going to take
about as long as this port will, and done in a similar fashion, save
the ranges are going to be much less as a rule.”

“And
then a swarm of armed 'citizens' are going to be coming in our wake,
spray-painting the walls all these weird colors, liberating every
vehicle they can...” I thought.

“More
than that, once you get into one of their supply-places,” said the
soft voice. “Get lucky and find automatic weapons, and then you're
going to see in real life what you've only read about before seeing
it done over there.”

“Not
just any 'truck-based things', not when they've refitted those
vehicles with up-to-date hardware. They'll actually have 'decent'
speed then, as their current speed – or lack of it – is due to a
combination of very poor maintenance and speed limiting
hardware, not due to raw capacity.”

“Then
again, they were originally designed to haul heavy loads all day
long,” I thought, “so if all you have are a few people on the
rear platform and don't mind charging up periodically, and then ditch
the 'governors', then you most likely can go about twice the normal
speed of those things.”

“No,
not that fast, as that would need a partial redesign as well
as a lot more work than just putting in new batteries and replacing
the control panel,” said the soft voice. “They will,
however, move fast enough that most people over there will need some
time to get used to them.”

“Hopefully
not weeks,” I murmured, as the boat finally touched down, then
began its steady 'run-out', this at a speed where it was barely
skimming the surface of the water.

There
was no moon. More, while there were stars visible, they were
very murky, and when I glanced up, I noted why.

“Cloud
cover,” I spat. “We're going to... No, that place is going to
be lit up good.”

“Much
better than 'good',” said the soft voice. “If you see any
unusually bright lights, shoot those first, as the smoke, fires, and
confusion that result, as well as the explosions – all of those
will just make your job easier.”

“My
job?” I asked.

“Keeping
those massing witches from interfering with blowing the three
drink-houses,” said the soft voice. “There's a good reason that
broom was packed, and there's a better-yet one that Sarah's gotten it
out.” Pause, then, “you will need it – and don't be at
all shy about asking for strange ammunition for that thing. It can
save your lives when there's a huge mob coming up the Long
Wharf.”

“Meaning
doing the port is more or less as bad as it's likely to be overseas,”
I asked. Each minute thus delayed was something, that in a way, was
scaring me worse than fighting Iggy.

“No,
it will not be like fighting that lizard,” said the soft
voice. “What these people have for an advantage is numbers.
They are not well-armed, nor particularly well-trained – and they
are mostly going to be drunk, and more than a few of them have just
learned about those new pills.”

“They
will be trouble, then, as they will be like those blue-suited thugs,”
said Sarah.

“No,
not close,” said the soft voice. “With them it isn't 'one to
five' – as in those people you dealt with in that house were each
worth five commonplace blue-suited thugs overseas.” Pause, then,
“those people may well be taking a drug or drugs that removes all
common sense and most of their intelligence, but they have a fair
number of strengths to compensate for much of their lacks – and
they're well-trained to both use those strengths and minimize
exposing their weaknesses. In comparison, all these people have, for
the most part, is 'they're really drunk' and 'there are a lot
of them'. No clubs, no superior hiding ability, they have some
common sense, they will be terrified once the broom starts to
work on them, and then...”

I
then had an idea that was so strange that only when Sarah
looked at me with shock did I not dismiss it out of hand.

“Yes,
and it will frighten them completely out of their minds,”
said the soft voice. “When you go up against those kind of
numbers, especially thugs who are going to not follow any rules save
one were the situation reversed, then go for any and all advantages
you can get – and hearing a Tigris is in the area and is
hunting – that is about the last thing any witch on the
planet right now wishes to hear.”

“Yes,
I know,” said Sarah. “They do know about those dark gray cats in
that port, as those tend to travel some, and a lot of those people
probably get down into where they are relatively common, that being
in that market town.”

“No,
dear, not one of those,” said the soft voice. “Those may be
large enough, and fast enough, and elusive enough, and lethal enough
– but no, they do not sound like the Tigris of old.” Pause,
then, “he does, and he was given that capacity for a reason.”

“Terror,”
I spat. “Terror is the way to run witches.”

“Straight
into the harbor, in fact, and 'Goiter' likes
that place,” said the soft voice. “He's quite common in there,
in fact, so much so that any one who 'splashes' is thought to be
protected if he lives
long enough to scream twice as 'Goiter's' tribe gets onto him.”